


Recovery

by Sable_Supernova



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Brothers, Death, F/M, Hilarity Ensues, Loss, Orgasm, Rough Sex, Sex, Teddy Lupin interrupts, Twins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-09 00:42:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4327269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sable_Supernova/pseuds/Sable_Supernova
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Lorcan dies, Lysander isn't sure he's able to move on, but with Rose by his side, maybe he'll be okay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Recovery

**Author's Note:**

> Written for prompts given to someone else in a competition over at ff.net, but they dropped out, and inspiration struck me, and then it ended up too M-rated to be posted there. The competition was the Awkward Moments competition, run by the writer who goes by Shane_Devante over here.  
> The prompts were:  
> Characters: Teddy Lupin, Lysander Scamander // Scenario: The awkward moment when you mistake the sound of someone screaming whilst having sex for someone having a nightmare and rush over to check on them.  
> Optional Prompts: Character: Rose Weasley - Word: Fiery - Word: Cerulean - Song: My Immortal by Evanescence - Object: Boots  
> Also, took a little bit of inspiration from the poem, A Solitary Observation Brought Back From A Sojourn In Hell.

Lysander had not felt the same since Lorcan had died. He hadn’t just lost a brother, he’d lost a part of himself, and it was a part of him that could not be replaced. They had been the trio, the two of them and Rose, inseparable. Now, it was just him and the fiery redhead, struggling to fill a hole the size of a whole other person.

He looked in the mirror, into deep cerulean eyes, and felt the absence even more profoundly. He’d removed everything from his room that reminded him of his brother, leaving little more than a bed with new sheets, fresh curtains and a wardrobe devoid of much in the way of clothes. But he couldn’t get rid of his eyes, his hair: the features the two brothers had shared and revelled in. Everytime he caught his own reflection, it was like looking at a photograph of the future Lorcan should have had.

Rose was the only one who came close to understanding, having known the brothers in all their iterations. Lysander clung to her like he was a ship in a maelstrom and she was the anchor - the only thing keeping him in place and afloat, away from the eye of the storm.

He walked back to his bed, but he didn’t lie down. He didn’t want to know the tears again, that fell into his ears as he stared at the ceiling awake. He glanced at the clock and read six minutes past two from its tired face, and he sighed. He didn’t want to have to call on Rose again, not at this hour, but he knew she would come. It was Christmas, and they had guests staying, so he knew he would have to seem human enough in a few hours’ time to pass as part of the living. He needed sleep, and sometimes, in Rose’s arms, he could manage it.

He pulled out his quill and parchment from the drawer in his bedside cabinet and began to write.

_Hey Rose,_

_If you’re asleep, and I just woke you, go back to sleep. I’m just being desperate, again. But if, by any chance, you’re lying awake, too, come over and we can lie awake together._

_Lysander_

He sent the letter off to the next village over with a sigh, regretting his decision to call on her as soon as it was done. He supposed he could give himself some leeway. It had only been two months ago, after all.

He lay down on his bed, staring at the pattern the light through his curtains made where it hit the wall, and waited. He’d give her ten minutes. If she wasn’t here by then, she wasn’t coming.

It wasn’t too long later when his fireplace lit up, and out stepped Rose Weasley, her hair in a messy bun with her pyjamas on, covered by only a large, long cardigan, wearing her hiking boots, unlaced.

He couldn’t help but smile at how cute she looked.

“Move up, then,” she said, stifling a yawn as she slipped her bare feet out of the boots and removed her cardigan. Lysander did as she asked, making room for her in his single bed, grateful for the company that didn’t ask too many questions or offer too many condolences.

He let his arm fall around her as she settled into the nook of his shoulder, her head on his collarbone, and she closed her eyes.

“Wanna talk about it?” she asked.

“No.”

“Okay,” she replied.

“Merlin, I wish it was that easy with everyone,” he replied with a half-hearted laugh. He felt her smile against him.

“No one else is as good as me,” she replied, jokingly.

“They aren’t,” he agreed, without a trace of humour.

Silence fell between them for a while, but Lysander’s mind would not rest. Perhaps he needed to talk about it.

“I’m tired of it. Being here, like this. I keep waiting for things to get better and move on, but they don’t,” he admitted, talking to the ceiling but knowing she was listening.

“Things don’t get better. People get stronger. But it takes time,” she told him, leaning back slightly to look at his face.

“He left, Rose, but he didn’t leave, did he? He’s still here. It’s like he’s haunting me. He won’t leave me alone,” Lysander said as tears began to fall from his eyes. Rose sat up immediately, moving to cradle his head and comfort him, not saying a word.

“Time won’t erase that. Me and Lorcan used to give each other everything. We shared clothes, pocket money, food, friends. We shared our whole lives. It feels like, all of a sudden, I was forced to let him go. But he’s still got all of me,” he choked, breathing in deep sobs as Rose hushed him and stroked his hair. She was at a complete loss for words, knowing her pain was a faint mark in watercolour next to his deep, bright, acrylic ache, both stretched thin over an ageing canvas.

“His voice is in every dream; his face is all I see in mirrors. I think I’m going mad.”

Rose moved closer to him, trying to encourage him to look at her, but he didn’t see anything past her own pain. As tears glistened in her own eyes, her heart fit to burst, she leant in and placed a soft kiss on his lips. Slowly, the choking sobs faded away as he looked at her. As his hands came up into her hair, he kissed her back, hard, his tongue searching her mouth. She caved to him, knowing he was channelling his sorrow, his anger, his guilt, into her. But that was okay.

He flipped her over so his body pinned her to the mattress, pressing down on her as his hands searched her sides, her breasts, fingernails clawing at her. She placed her arms around his neck and hissed against his kiss as he toed the borderline between pleasure and pain. Her nails dug into his shoulders, and as his thumbs traced her nipples, she jerked involuntarily, dragging her nails down his back, making him gasp. He pressed against her with a new-found excitement, rocking his hips into hers. Rose felt him against her, hard, and ached for him.

Their tears were still wet on their cheeks when he pulled her pyjama bottoms down in one swift movement, desperate to be inside of her. He didn’t go slowly; their need was too great. He thrust into her in one movement, and Rose let out a squeal, feeling her body respond to his movements with gusto. Her hands clawed at his back, pulling him closer, closer, as if she wanted them to fuse together into one being. He took her nipple into his mouth as his fists balled in her hair, tugging at it’s soft skin and grinding his teeth against it’s pinkness. Lysander took in her reddened cheeks, the sweat on her brow, the glazed look in her eyes and knew the pressure was building up inside of her as it was in him. Their release would be quick and explosive, and it would be right.

As orgasm struck them both, simultaneously, Lysander let out a groan as Rose let out a small scream, trying to stifle it but unable to control herself. Both of them forgot about the world around them, lost in the moment. It wasn’t until the door flew open with a scream of, “Lysander!” that they even remembered his family and their friends were sleeping in the rooms next door.

“Fuck!” Lysander announced, acting quickly to ensure they were both covered with his quilt, before turning to see who it was.

A white faced Teddy Lupin was stood in the doorway, scratching the stubble on his chin as he stared in shock, jaw agape. “I heard screaming… I thought you were having a nightmare…” he began, suddenly looking away into a distant empty corner of the room. “At least you’re, you know, happy… See you tomorrow,” he said with an awkward cough before leaving them alone again, closing the door behind him.

Lysander closed his eyes, breath coming fast and deep as he tried to regain control.

“Perhaps we should have remembered a Silencing Charm,” Rose whispered, an afterthought that she wished had been a before-thought.

Lysander shrugged; it was too late now, after all. “At least it was only Teddy, it could have been worse,” he commented, looking at her.

She bit her lip, holding back a giggle before bursting out into a fit of laughter. As Lysander began to laugh, too, he leaned down to kiss her gently, realising that maybe, just maybe, he was on the road to recovery.


End file.
